


Where lost socks go

by melian225



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, Community: HPFT, Gen, Wizarding History
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 21:54:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7862545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melian225/pseuds/melian225
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bertie Bott is searching for new flavours for his beans, when one unexpectedly falls into his lap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where lost socks go

Albert Bott wiped his brow. He was onto something big, he just knew it. The problem was getting enough flavours to make it worthwhile.

“Do we have any raspberries, love?” he called out, hoping his wife was within hearing distance.

“What’s that, Bert?” she called back. “Blueberries?”

“Raspberries,” he shouted. “Red ones.”

Prudence Bott shuffled to the doorway of his lab – well, really, it was a spare room, but he liked to think of it as his lab. Her ample frame blocked out most of the light from outside. “Strawberries, you wanted?” she asked, holding out a handful of the red fruit for him. “Here you go, love.”

“No, not strawberries, raspberries.” Unfortunately her hearing was going and she just refused to use the trumpet the Healer had given her. “Round ones, not these.” He reached for a strawberry to eat anyway – they looked delicious and, if he wasn’t mistaken, had been Engorged somehow in their garden. Surely normal strawberries weren’t this big?

“Oh, you mean raspberries,” she said, snatching her hand back before he could take one. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

Bert shook his head in frustration. He was trying to get the perfect flavours for his new sweet, a type of bean made with gelatine and sugar, and while he’d had some success he couldn’t help but feel that there wasn’t enough variety in what he’d produced so far. He had a number of fruit-based flavours, the berry ones tasting by far the best so far (hence his attempt to increase their number), but beyond that he was out of ideas. What should a sweet lolly bean taste like?

Fortunately it wasn’t long before Prudence returned with a bowl full of raspberries for him, again much larger than they should by rights be. Pru, however, was a good gardener and he wasn’t about to question her methods. If she could grow raspberries like this, he would be the last one to complain.

Once he had the raspberries, Bert ate one (just to check its quality, he told himself) and put the rest into his cauldron. With any luck, the juice from the fruit would impregnate the gelatine mixture he had in there and he would have yet another flavour worthy of his name. Bert was an inventor, always producing something or other, but rarely had he had the confidence that this particular project brought that he was, finally, on the verge of success. Bertie Bott’s Flavoured Beans would, he was sure, finally put his name out there, after years of hardship. He would reach that pinnacle. And he couldn’t wait.

Tentatively he dipped his spoon into the cauldron and tasted what came out of it. Perfect, he thought. Absolutely perfect. The raspberry flavoured beans were just as good as the orange flavoured, the peach flavoured and the blueberry flavoured. One more string to his bow, he realised with a grin, reinforcing within himself that amazing sensation that this was definitely IT.

Hurriedly he removed the cauldron from the fire and cast the spell that would, when the mixture was cold, automatically separate it into small fingernail-sized portions. Just like kidney beans, he thought, only sweet. And raspberry flavoured. He looked at the jars on the shelves behind the cauldron that held the other beans, already boasting twelve different colours shining vibrantly through the glass. Red was just the colour he was missing, he thought fondly. It would make for a good visual as well as tasty addition to his collection.

Prudence appeared at the doorway again. “How’re you going with that?” she asked. She wasn’t really interested, he knew that, but he appreciated the show if nothing else. She knew how important it was to him and was happy to let him get down and do it, that was the main thing.

“Really really well,” he said. “The raspberry turned out perfectly.  I’ll just start another few batches up and see what else we can use in the morning.”

His ingredients, while fairly standard, needed to sit overnight in order to get to the right consistency to make the beans. It wasn’t unusual for three or four cauldrons to be sitting in his lab, brewing, just waiting for his dose of inspiration the next day.

****

The next morning, Bert was rummaging through his drawers, throwing random articles of clothing over his shoulder as he did so. Finally, though, he gave up. “Pru, love, where are all my socks?”

His wife poked her head in the door. “Rocks?”

“Socks,” he said loudly. “Those things you put on your feet.”

Her expression cleared. “Oh, _socks_ ,” she said. “Why didn’t you say so before? I put them all in the wash, they were looking very grubby.”

“Well, you could have left at least some for me to wear,” he muttered under his breath. He knew better than to say it loudly, though – she had threatened more than once to stop doing his laundry entirely and he didn’t want to be put in that situation. He had absolutely no idea about cleaning spells.

Still grumbling, he wandered barefoot through the house until he spied some sad-looking socks on the floor in the spare room. “These’ll do,” he told himself, not knowing (or caring) if they were clean or not. They were his, and they’d keep his feet warm. That was the main thing.

On his way out he spied yet another pair of socks, lying separately behind the door of the room. These looked like his socks as well and, fearing another purge of dirty items so he couldn’t use them, he decided to secrete them away in his lab. Pru would never find them there, he reasoned, so next time he ran out of socks he’d be able to access them. Out of curiosity more than anything else he put one of the socks to his nose and sniffed. While they had obviously been worn, he didn’t rail from the odour or anything so he figured they’d do just fine. Smiling at his own ingenuity, he put the socks in his pocket and sauntered out of the room.

****

By four o’clock in the afternoon Bert was satisfied with his work for the day. He’d harnessed the flavour of apples for one batch of beans, and was considering the sweeter vegetables for other flavours. He would have liked to use chocolate but he was wary of stepping on any shoes and his relationship with Ambrosius Flume was tenuous at the best of times. But what else could he use?

His attention was distracted by some bubbling in the cauldron on his right. Frowning slightly, he looked into it – that mixture had been untouched all day, waiting for more inspiration for its flavour, and shouldn’t be reacting to anything. The bubbling, though, meant that something had certainly made its way into the cauldron.

“PRU!” he yelled, hoping she was within earshot.

Soon enough, she appeared. “What is it, Bert, love?”

“Have you been in here today?” he asked, trying not to sound suspicious.

She shook her head, sending copious amounts of dark hair flying about her face. “No, love,” she said, sounding surprised. “You know I wouldn’t dare disturb your work.”

He believed her, but that meant that something else had to have contaminated the cauldron. He couldn’t understand it – he kept a clean lab, making sure that nothing touched anything it shouldn’t, and he was sure that he hadn’t knocked anything that might have gone anywhere near this cauldron. It was a mystery.

“This cauldron shouldn’t be doing anything,” he said. “Something’s got into it.”

“Why don’t you taste it?” Pru suggested, her bulky frame still filling most of the doorway. “Then you’ll know what it is, at least.”

Seeing the wisdom in this, Bert stuck his spoon in and tasted the result. It almost made him gag – it was like a combination of off food, foot odour and old wool. Almost like …

“Merlin’s beard,” he heard himself saying as he fished around in his surprisingly empty pocket. “Merlin’s beard … it’s the socks!!!”

“Socks?” Pru looked very surprised. “But I washed all your socks.”

“Not all of them. I found two pairs in the spare room. One I’m wearing, and I put the others in my pocket for another day. But they must have fallen out …”

Pru had bustled her way into the room and tasted the concoction for herself. “It’s certainly – um – different,” she said. “Not sweet, though.”

Bert shook his head. “No, not what I was looking for at all. Unless …”

Pru looked at him. This close she could hear pretty much everything he was saying. “Unless what, Bert love?”

“I’ve got it!!” This was his Eureka moment, he knew it. “Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans. Not just sweet, not just food even, but _every flavour_!! Dirty socks included.” He beamed at his wife, thrilled with this revelation. “And our slogan can be, ‘A risk with every mouthful!’ It’s marketing genius!”

Pru was still looking at him, but her expression had changed from confused to shrewd. “You might be onto something, love,” she said. “The kiddiwinks will love it. Sweets that taste of dirty socks? It could be a masterstroke.”

Beaming, Bert cast the spell that turned the cauldron’s ingredients into beans and popped one in his mouth. It was an ugly grey-white colour and it still tasted appalling, but it was unmistakably dirty socks. Sure, adults might turn up their noses at it, but if Bert understood pre-Hogwarts age witches and wizards (and even some older than that, truth be told) they would love the very idea of not knowing what their beans might taste like. It was the best thought he’d ever had.

“Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans,” he said again, still smiling. “If I’m not mistaken, Pru, this will make us rich.”

She smiled back at him. “So, what other flavours do you want to try? Earwax? Cat hair? I’m sure we can find all sorts of things.”

“Just let me clean out these cauldrons and get some more batches brewing for tonight,” he said. “Tomorrow we’ll scour the house for more bean flavour ideas. After all, my dear, this is only the start.” His eyes roamed around the room as he took in more and more possibilities: quill ink, toenails, parchment, grass, coffee. The world was swimming with ideas for him to pursue with this new project. “We’ve got the whole world to try out.”

 


End file.
